Cameron quailed not at the consequences of that day’s work.  His soul was on fire for the honor of the Lord Jesus Christ.  He had expressed a desire to die fighting against the avowed enemies of his Lord.  He never doubted the final issue; victory was sure in the end, whatever might be the reverses at the beginning and the losses by the way.  “Let Christ reign,” he exclaimed with prophetic fire; “Let Christ reign, is a standard that shall yet overthrow all the thrones of Europe;” and he spoke as if his flashing eyes saw the thrones reel, and his quick ears heard the crash of their fall.

One brief month lay between Sanquhar and Ayrsmoss.  Cameron and his little company moved cautiously over the desolate places.  They roamed across the dreary moorlands, slept amidst the flowering heather, and pillowed their weary heads on the moss.  The cold ground was their mattress; the chilling mist was their covering; the arching sky was their roof; the silent stars were their sentinels; the Lord God Almighty was their keeper.  Thus they awaited the day of battle.  Cameron betimes enjoyed the hospitality of friends who risked their lives in receiving him under their roof.

July 22, 1680, was the eventful day.  The little band had strolled into the heart of this waste moor.  Here were threescore valiant men, of the valiant of Israel.  “They all held swords, being expert in war:  every man had his sword upon his thigh, because of fear in the night.”  The actual number was sixty-three, twenty-three men were mounted.  They hung about Cameron who never wearied in preaching Christ to their hungry souls.  This day his voice was unusually solemn.  He had an inward assurance that the sun, which was now flooding the landscape with glory and taking the chill of the night out of his veins, would glance its setting rays upon his blood and theirs, poured out upon that field.  It was now 4 o’clock; the men were resting on the little knolls that studded the moor; their horses were grazing by their side; all eyes were often scanning the horizon; any minute danger might loom up.

“They come!” cried one who saw a troop verging on the moor.  In a moment the sixty-three were on their feet; the horses were mounted and every man drew his weapon.  Captain Hackston, a veteran in the Covenanted cause, took command.  Cameron offered a prayer; his recorded prayer was not a plea for safety nor for victory, but that God would “spare the green and take the ripe.”  They chose their ground, and waited the coming of Captain Bruce with 120 troopers.  With grim determination they watched the dragoons cover the ground.  Every man was ready, every nerve was steady.  The Covenanters had the courage of conscience; they knew they were in the right; their hearts sustained them; their Covenant reinforced them; they were assured of ultimate success.  They will certainly achieve all that is best for this time, and for this occasion.  Even a crushing defeat will be a moral victory.  The outcome will be according to the will of God, and a necessary event in the progress of Christ’s kingdom.